Clouds in My Coffee
by msgenevieve447
Summary: It's the little things that make a difference. (Set sometime in the future of the "Walking in a Straight Line" Universe - birthday fic for the-lady-swan.) Smut, fluff, and fancy coffee.


"Voila!"

Wondering at the sense of occasion with which he's placed the two mugs on their kitchen table, Emma blinks sleepily at her coffee.

 _Ah._

There seems to be a white swan swimming through the foam of her latte.

It's ridiculously adorable and, just like the crumpled post-it note with the cartoon swan that she _still_ has stashed in the top drawer of her dresser, it makes her chest tighten with a fierce, tender longing.

They'd bought a new espresso machine on Saturday, and he's obviously been practicing his milk pouring skills in order to impress her (and she _is_ impressed, because it's perfect) and she really shouldn't tease him, but she can't resist. "It's a lotus flower, right?"

Disappointment flickers across Killian's face, but he recovers quickly, giving her a brisk smile. "Alas, it appears my technique requires more practice," he murmurs. "Perhaps next time."

Emma bites her lip. _Oops._ It's obviously way too early on a Monday morning for even the most resilient of men to brush off unwarranted criticism. "I was just messing with you." Rising to her feet, she catches his hand in hers, stopping him from heading for his own chair. "It's a swan, and it's perfect."

His smile is warm enough to make the kitchen feel cozy, even on this gloomy February morning, and she doesn't resist as he tugs her closer. "A rather apt motif with which to adorn your coffee, then."

It's ridiculous, really, how such simple words can make her heart beat faster. She shifts closer still, the toes of her slippers nudging against his sock-clad feet. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Jones."

He smirks. "Likewise, I'm sure."

His kiss is soft and warm and tastes of toothpaste rather than coffee, but it's more of a jolt to her system than any caffeine ever could be, and she sways into him, her body suddenly seeming to forget that it's Monday and the sun has barely risen. When he lifts his head, he looks both smug and flustered, a reaction she knows she'll never get tired of provoking. "Remind me again what on earth we're doing out of bed at such an ungodly hour?"

She smooths her hands down the front of his white business shirt, curling her hand around his dark red tie. She really _does_ love him dressed for the office. _Well, half-dressed anyway,_ she muses, thinking of those black socks dotted with tiny white anchors. "It's Monday and we both have to go to work?"

He pulls a face, then pulls her closer, his fingers kneading the curve of her hips. She's still wearing her black fuzzy robe, the one he calls her _Black Swan number,_ but she imagines she can feel the heat of his palms on her skin. "That hardly seems fair."

She laughs, barely resisting the urge to bury her nose in the crook of his neck. "If you somehow magically start your own practice, you can hire me to do any skip tracing work you need." Rising up on her toes, she gives him a firm, quick kiss, pulling away regretfully. "Until then, though-"

He catches her mouth with his again, delicately swallowing her words with one silken sweep of his tongue, her last kiss obviously way too brief for his liking. She's not about to argue. She tightens her grip on his tie, her belly clenching as his body stirs into life against hers. Maybe one day, his touch won't have the effect of making her go from zero to a hundred in ten seconds, but right now, her knees are literally knocking.

It's only when he's shuffled them backwards and the small of her back meets the edge of the kitchen counter that she finds the willpower to voice a half-hearted protest.

"Our coffee will go cold."

"I can make more coffee." His clever fingers make short work of the tie on her robe, then his hands are skimming over her skin, one heading north, the other south, and she knows they're not making the early train.

"I guess I _could_ text Kathryn and tell her that something's come up," she manages to say, closing her eyes as he curls one hand between her legs, the other palming her breast.

He shifts against her, and she feels him, hard and thick against her hip. "Technically, you wouldn't be lying."

 _Oh, God._ Her hands go to his belt buckle, fingers trembling as he teases the hollow ache between her thighs with the heel of his palm. "I _just_ had a shower."

"Don't fret, Swan." He bites gently at her collarbone, instantly making her nipples draw up tight and hard, then he's lifting her up onto the counter as if she weighs less than nothing. His hands splayed on her thighs, he gives her a bright blue wink as he crouches down in front of her. "Nothing too dirty, I promise."

He murmurs the last words against her thigh, then his mouth is hot on her aching flesh before she's even had chance to think of a comeback, and she quickly puts her hands flat on the counter behind her for support, her head falling backwards as he goes to work.

 _Fuck,_ he's good at this.

In two minutes flat, he's got her swearing and writhing, pushing back against his mouth, her nipples painfully tight as gooseflesh dances over her from head to toe, his warm tongue and crisp beard teasing and coaxing and pushing her higher and higher and _faster –_

Her heels press hard into his back, trying to find purchase, trying to make it harder, deeper, then he slips two fingers into the tender clench of her body and everything starts to unravel. _"_ God, _, Killian-"_

When his work is done and she's a shaking, breathless mess, he presses a lazy line of kisses along the length of her thigh, then blows a raspberry on her knee, his damp whiskers tickling her skin. "Happy Monday, love."

Blowing a strand of damp hair out of her eyes (she's going to have to wear a braid this morning, there's no way she's got the energy to blow dry her hair after _that_ ), she gives him a shaky smile. "You gotta admit, that was a _little_ dirty."

He merely grins, his tongue darting out to lick his lips as he rises to his feet. "Not as dirty as it could have been." She can see the jut of his erection, pushing against the zipper of his black suit pants, and her palms suddenly tingle with the urge to touch him. "My work ethic has always been keep it neat, keep it efficient," he quips, his manner adorably pompous, and she reaches out and hooks her fingers into the waistband of his trousers, jerking him to stand between her legs.

"You know what _my_ work ethic is, Jones?"

His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows hard, his dark eyelashes fluttering as she unbuckles his belt and draws the tab of his zipper downward. "I'm sure you're about to tell me."

Leaning forward, Emma gently nips at his jaw, then licks the reddened skin, one hand curled around his tie. "You know, I'm more of a show not tell kind of girl," she tells him, slipping the other hand into his boxers to find him hard and ready, the silken thrust of his erection heavy and warm against her palm. She really doesn't want to be late for work, but she is definitely going to return the favour here. "Why don't you try and guess?"

His suit pants and boxers get pushed down to his knees, and when she kisses him, his soft groan vibrates on her own tongue, making her blood hum. She curls her legs around his hips, pulling him flush against her until the thick length of him fits against the slick flesh between her legs, and he bites at her bottom lip, his tongue flicking into her mouth.

"Fucking hell," he mutters as he begins to move, rutting slowly against her, each thrust making them both suck in a sharp breath of pleasure. "Is it minimum effort for maximum results, by any chance?"

His voice is breathless and rough, each word threaded through with the same tortured anticipation that's making her clench her thighs around his hips and grit her teeth, the pressure building low in her belly once more, the reignited pulse of desire beating slow and thick between her legs.

"Something like that," she faintly stutters, sliding her hand between them to stroke the slippery length of him, helping him hit just the right spot with every thrust.

(As usual, he doesn't need her help. Every thrust has her biting her lip, riding the wave of sensation as it slowly begins to build and crest, her pulse pounding in her head and her breasts and deep in her groin.)

He puts his hands on the counter on either side of her, almost looming over her as he moves faster, chasing his release as well as her own, and her skin begins to prickle with heat, making every hair on her body stand on end. "No wonder you're such a valued employee," he tells her in a choked voice, then his mouth is hot on her throat, the crisp fabric of his shirt rubbing at her nipples and belly, and she's a fucking _goner_.

So is he, for that matter.

Okay, so things got a little dirty after all.

She doesn't care.

He's as good as his promise, making fresh coffee while she hastily cleans up and gets dressed. She composes a text to Kathryn, saying that she's running a little late, but her boss' reply is reassuringly blasé, saying that in _that_ case, maybe Emma could pick up some more sugar-free energy drinks on her way to the office.

Finally dressed, her hair pulled back in a thick braid, she returns to the kitchen to find that he's not only made more coffee, but that there's another swan swimming in her latte. "I _love_ you," she tells him, her heart seeming to flip-flop in her chest, and his grin almost reaches from ear to ear.

"And I you, Swan." He taps the tip of her nose with his finger, then lifts his own coffee to his lips. After a long sip, he smiles at her again. "So much so that I'm going to drive you right to the doorstep of Midas Bonds this morning and then spend an hour trying to find a space in that lovely parking lot near my office."

She frowns. She's not in the habit of turning down the offer of a ride to work, but still- "That's going to cost you a small fortune."

"And then some," he agrees cheerfully as he raises his coffee cup, clinking it against hers. "Totally worth it, though, wouldn't you say?"

Emma grins as she shifts in her chair, feeling the pleasantly tender after-effects of being thoroughly ravished (twice) before the sun was barely over the horizon, then prepares to demolish her latte swan in one long gulp. "I would."

* * *

The next morning, there's a sheriff's badge garnishing her coffee foam. He tells her that he tried for handcuffs, but just couldn't get them quite right.

Five minutes later, her head swimming with coffee-flavoured kisses, Emma texts Kathryn to say she's following up a lead and will be in after ten.

"We've _got_ to stop doing this," she tells him sternly as he unbuttons the blouse she's _just_ buttoned, his hands slipping inside to cup her breasts, his thigh riding high between hers as he pushes her back against the frame of their bedroom door. "Maybe we should set the alarm for earlier," she mutters as she palms the heavy ridge of the erection tenting the front of his suit pants. "Or wait until we get home, oh _fuck-_ "

His hand is under her skirt, his fingers sliding over the thin cotton of her underwear, rubbing and teasing until she's clutching at his shoulders. He gives her a slow smile that makes her belly tighten, his blue eyes gleaming. "Aye, we could, but where's the fun in that?"

Later, she consoles herself with the fact that at least they made it back to bed this time.

* * *

The morning after that, she gets up before him and hides the coffee beans.

When he sulks, she promises to buy him a fancy coffee once they get into the city.

He quirks one dark eyebrow at her as he buttons his waistcoat, his fingers nimble and sure. "You seem very confident I won't ravish you in public, Swan."

Maybe she should be embarrassed by the heat that suddenly blooms in her face, but she's too busy trying not to think of last night and those nimble fingers of his being put to much better use. "Well, I _do_ have a taser."

"Good point." He grins as he picks up his suit jacket. "Perhaps we could have an early night."

Her face still warm, she shakes her head as she slings her purse over one shoulder. "Shouldn't this have worn off by now?" She doesn't elaborate what she means by _this._ They both know what she's talking about. Flicking off the bedroom light, she leads the way to the front door, feeling his gaze homing in on her ass as he trails behind. He always did like this particular skirt, she remembers with a smirk. "I mean, aren't we supposed to have gotten into a nice little rut after so many months of domestic bliss?"

"Bloody hell, I hope not." He insists on holding the front door open for her, a tiny smile of triumph quirking his lips when she doesn't argue. "I don't know about you, love, but I plan on dreaming up new ways to woo you until we're old and gray."

Her heart lurches at the certainty in his voice - she's sure of him, of them, as sure as she's ever been of anything in her life, but hearing him say such things is still so precious and new - and she has to swallow hard before she can answer him. "Good."

* * *

The next morning, she sets the alarm thirty minutes earlier than usual.

Emma wakes to whispered words of love and lust against her skin, his hands warm as they cup her face. Hands push aside clothing just enough for him to slide inside her, thick and hot. It starts off sleepy and slow and it stays that way, a lazy dance beneath the covers as they move in perfect synch. When they fall, they fall together.

There's no swan in her coffee today, and that's fine with her, because they actually make the early train and she gets to work before Kathryn for the first time in weeks.

She's pretty sure that Saturday morning's caffeine offering is going to be something else, though, and she makes a mental note not to make any farmer's market plans with Mary Margaret. She has the feeling they'll be getting out of bed _very_ late.

If this is what falling into a routine with each other feels like, Emma muses with a contented smile as she flicks open the latest report on her next douchebag skip, then bring on the damned rut, because she cannot _wait._


End file.
